The Museum
by Xyliette
Summary: Post Season 3 Addison returns to brownstone in New York to pack up the remainder of her old life.


**_ -----_**  
**_If I walk down this hallway_**  
**_Tonight, it's too quiet_**  
**_So I pad through the dark_**  
**_And call you on the phone_**  
**_Push your old numbers_**  
**_And let your house ring_**  
**_Till I wake your ghost_**  
**_…_**  
**_I think last night_**  
**_You were driving circles around me_**  
_- Lisa Hannigan, "Your Ghost"_  
**_-----_**

She sits waiting patiently to board her plane. It's an odd feeling after everything is said and done. Certainly, if any one of those silly interns knew she was headed out they would be jumping for joy with a goodbye banner and cake at the terminal gate. Hell, they probably would have carried her luggage and held her hand as she boarded just to ensure that she was actually leaving. She toys with her phone and shuffles through her carry on trying to look important and busy but the truth is she is no such thing for the next two weeks.

Leaving Seattle in search of a new life was probably the easiest choice she has made in the last three or so years. She doesn't take decisions like this lightly and after she weighed out the possible pros and cons she couldn't find a good reason not to leave the rainy hell hole that has destroyed whatever shred of dignity she had arrived with that long year ago. One horribly lengthy year fraught with choices that could have been made better and too many series of broken hearts to count leaves her standing a little shorter and a little less hopeful. She is at an all time low, even for her, and it is time for a change. Feeling as though it is her turn for something good to happen, after all she has endured lately; she boards and takes her seat rapidly. What she knows is that if something good can't happen to her then she would quickly settle for something happening at all and going back is the first step in being able to move forward.

**_-----_**

This undoubtedly should have happened before now. It has been neglected, put off, and avoided until the possibility was no longer questionable. Now, which is about a week and a half before she needs to be in Santa Monica to start the new segment of her life, she must return to the ghosts that haunt her essence. She questioned having movers come in and pack her stuff with the supervision of Savvy but ultimately decided that she was uncomfortable with greasy, sweaty men going through her personal belongings and throwing them into boxes. She is much too organized to tolerate someone else's incompetence and knows that it would just be easier if she gathered herself and went and handled her own problems for once.

When the plane touches down seamlessly her stomach jumps into her throat. She swallows hard as the blurring lights outside of her window begin to slow and gravity forces her further into her seat. Thinking better of getting a hotel room so she won't have to deal with the brownstone until tomorrow, she hops into the first cab she could flag down and recites the address she knows by heart. She tries to remind herself that not all of the times within the façade of a house were bad but the good memories only make her feel worse as she senses the threatening tears in the corner of her eye.

When the cab comes to a rest amidst the rest of the busy street outside her old home she seems to not be able to find air. She gasps and tries valiantly to keep her composure until she can at least make it inside. The cab driver struggles with the luggage and growls as she hands him the cash before darting back inside and tearing off. She stands, mostly alone with the exception of the foot traffic teetering around her, staring up at the front door. The only memory that courses through her is that of the night where her husband, correction ex-husband, threw her into the rain. Feeling utterly ridiculous and childish, she shakes her head at no one in particular and forces her feet forward on the dry concrete.

**_-----_**

She enters slowly half expecting and half hoping to be met by something other than the darkness that encases the room. Flicking on the light, she watches as her mind attempts to jump into old habits. She kicks off her heels, letting them knock against the wooden staircase, and leaves her coat draped over the banister. Taking slow deliberate steps so as not to disturb the museum she just penetrated she finds her way to the kitchen. The tears set in after about the third stride and she spends the remainder of the night crying into the old kitchen table. She lets the carefully crafted guards fall to her knees and openly sobs for all of the dreams she has lost in the last year.

**_-----_**

Morning found her completely exhausted and sleeping with most of her body on the couch and the other portion hanging off in an awkward position. After trying to make it upstairs last night she hastily resigned to the fact that there was no way she was sleeping in their old bed. She has allotted for two days of packing to guarantee that she doesn't linger with photographs and mementos for too long. She doesn't want the memories that course through her body anymore, she wants to neatly pack them into a box, seal the top with clear tape, and throw them in the back of some closet that awaits her by the ocean. Standing she feels her back try to realign itself and her knees crack from the sudden weight placed upon them. She makes quick work of getting ready for the day and is certain that after last night's display that wearing any form of make up today would just be futile. She pops a Xanax to help quell the inner emotions and reasons that having an anxiety attack with no one around to help her is the last thing she needs on her plate.

**_-----_**

The autographed 1978 Yankees World Series Ball sits on the same shelf of the bookshelf that she left it on after Derek tossed it aside the day after their ninth wedding anniversary. She got him the ball, as a token, because he used to be such a huge fan and he bought her roses that were delivered to her office twenty minutes after she left for the day.

For their fifth wedding anniversary someone had managed to abide by the protocol and got them a wooden picture frame that holds Addison's favorite picture of her old life. It's un-staged and they didn't even know there was a camera near them as they melted into each other next to the roaring fireplace of his mother's house. It was their season; now it's a season that brings about a resounding feeling of guilt and regret. It goes into the box next to the ball.

By the time her 35th birthday, which she strenuously refused to recognize, rolled around the gifts had become more lavish. She actually had wondered if her husband thought that the more money he spent on it the more it would mean to her. She stares back at the sculpture and debates tossing it against the wall just to watch it shatter. The irony would be too overwhelming so into the box it goes.

His copy of The Sun Also Rises, her trashy novels, numerous medical journals, and old classics all get dumped into the next box. Most of the literature belongs to Derek who enjoys a good strenuous read from time to time. She prefers to read for entertainment and sticks to "chick lit". She's leaving the furniture, all of the electronics, and the appliances behind. Honestly she couldn't care less about what happens to them after she signs off on this place. It isn't on the market yet (she wasn't ready to part ways) but she knows now that this has to be done. The past and all of its memories, good, bad, or indifferent needs to be put to rest.

**_-----_**

She finds herself stuck in the doorway, eyes locked on the place where the treachery took place. It was betrayal, through and through. It was a simple act that ended a life she wasn't living in anymore. She merely existed within the shell of a fantastic marriage and man who didn't care if she woke up the next morning or not. It's also something that she hates thinking about because she never anticipated being that woman. So she steps inside, switches off her brain, and works methodically through the room. Clothes still on their hangers and fresh with his scent get discarded into a box that she will send him and will promptly get thrown away. It stings a little, even now, that he still chooses to disown everything from his former life. He doesn't want the clothes, the pictures, the books, the china, or the literature. What her once best friend wants is a good dose of amnesia and to never have to mutter the name, "Addison" ever again.

She takes her jewelry, happy she threw her rings into rippling waters of the bay, and places them into the next box. She adamantly declines to touch the bed and anything on it. It's a line, a boundary that she can't handle crossing yet. She collects another box of Derek's belongings to ship to Seattle and secretly hopes that he at least looks inside before burying them in the woods behind the disgusting tin can of a house

**_-----_**

Two whole days wrought with grief and riddled by her old life leaves her emotionally hung over as she boards the next flight to get the hell out of New York. She never thought she would leave this city, it bordered on incomprehensible, but here she is clad in the mandatory all-black New York dress code waiting in line to drop off her luggage. Her words fail her as she watches the swarms of people, busy with their own lives, and is jolted back to life by the woman behind the counter demanding to see her boarding pass.

She hugs her arms close to her chest as she feels the plane pick up speed. She reminds herself that this isn't the hardest part. When she turned the key and locked the brownstone with a deafening click it certainly felt like the end of her life, but she knows it wasn't. It was simply closing that chapter of her life to make sure that the next could be opened. She hopes, though probably in vain because of her renowned expertise, to never have to return to this city. She waits as the plane evens itself out before she exhales the breath she didn't know she had been holding. It could be the shift of gravity but her world suddenly feels a little lighter. She grins and gives herself a mental pat on the back for putting the past to bed. There is no room for all of the old turmoil and baggage where she is headed. The grief is replaced by her unfailing hope midway through the flight and for the first time in years she feels alive and in charge of the direction of her life.

**_-----_**

* * *


End file.
